I Etch Your Life Into My Skin
by Connie Welsh
Summary: Between the hyper awareness he's still feeling in his newly repaired skin, and the discovery of the meaningful, new tattoo on his precious brother's body, Dean is getting a whole new perspective on being back from the dead. Dean/Sam, NC-17


**Love to my beta, Sarah_Ellie, who is very much my cheerleader and cohort in all things Wincest.**

There's no rest for the wicked, they say, and isn't that the damn truth. It's a truth Dean's been riding for a few days now, and who'd have thought that being top-side again would be so exhausting.

Not that he's not grateful or anything, crazy angel mojo aside, but he wants some time to _breathe_.

It finally feels like they're going to get it tonight, which is a hell of a blessing if they've ever known one.

They said their farewells to Bobby and hit the road this morning, pulled into some half-way town 10 hours later to get their bearings, sniff out a case, get back into a rhythm again.

Now they're sitting at the small table in the motel room, Sam on the laptop and Dean shuffling through the newspapers, each nursing a cold beer and it's just like old times, almost.

It's hot in the room. Even though it's mid-September, the heat is a bit too thick still to be going comfortably without air, and of course they picked the crappy motel that had all the window ACs packed up and stored somewhere for the winter.

But they're making due, as they always do. And Dean supposes he should be grateful, really, considering that a week ago he was... well. He can handle a bit of late-summer heat.

Dean still feels a bit raw; like he's numb and hyper-sensitive at the same time, which makes each pull on the icy beer bottle result in his teeth stinging and the sweat itching down his skin feel like trails of ants.

After circling another potential case lazily, Dean tossed down his pen with a sigh and leaned back in his chair. He stretched, feeling his back crack loudly and he winced, closed his eyes and rolled his neck for good measure. He sighed heavily again, and slid his eyes open to look at the off-white ceiling.

He could see Sam watching him in his peripheral vision, though Sam's posture hadn't changed; he was still leaning one elbow on the table, chin resting on his open palm, and the other resting lightly on the mousepad. He let Sam's watching drag on for a full fifteen seconds before he mumbled, "They say it's rude to stare Sammy."

"Sorry," Sam murmured, looking away purposefully before stretching for himself, nearly bent in half over the back of the chair and Dean was always struck at odd times by how huge his brother is, "Wha's th'time?" Sam slurred mid-stretch, and Dean checked his wristwatch.

"Nearly one," he answered, rubbed his eyes and polished off the last of his beer as Sam shut the laptop with a soft _click_.

"Any leads?" Sam asked tiredly, standing up to collect their empty beer bottles and dispose them in the trash can in the corner.

Dean shrugged, tipping his chair back on two legs and gesturing to the collection of papers still scattered on the table, "Couple potentials. Nothing that's really jumping at me. You?"

"Same," Sam sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed heavily for a moment, hands folded loosely and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Well, we'll look more tomorrow. Time to hit the hay for me, I think," Dean threw out casually, letting the chair tip forward again onto all four legs, and Sam nodded.

"How are you, Dean?" Sam asked suddenly, and Dean paused, halfway through reaching down to unlace his boots.

"Fine, Sammy. I'm fine," Sam looked up, his face clearly stating he didn't believe him and Dean sighed, "Really, dude. Relax. I'm ok. Better than ever. Outta hell, kicking around with you, driving the Impala," he grinned, "Man, I missed that car."

Sam scoffed, giving a small smile that Dean counted as a victory as his brother reached up to run his fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs back absentmindedly.

"Instead of a motel room, maybe we should have went with a garage so you two can have some alone time," Sam teased, "I mean seriously dude, you were practically having foreplay with the dashboard."

"Hey," Dean wagged a finger at him, "Don't diss the bond between a man and his car."

"You go way beyond bond, Dean. I think they have a name for guys with car fetishes."

"The fact that you know that makes me question your internet uses there, Sammy," Dean smirked, "Did you turn into a perv while I was away?"

"Oh shut up," Sam snarked, throwing a pillow at him, which hit Dean square on in the face, "I'm not the one with the anime porn stash."

"It's _art_, ok," Dean admonished, grabbing the pillow and stalking over to his brother predatorily, "And that's _twice_now you've insulted me, bitch."

"Dean, no-" Sam started, half-way to standing when Dean rushed him, swinging the pillow in a back-handed strike that caught Sam right in the ear even as his brother flailed to grab his arms.

"Cut it out, you jerk!" Sam demanded, trying to wrestle the pillow from Dean and still keep his precarious balance, knees still bent from trying to stand but not having enough space between Dean and the bed to do it.

"Nope, brought it on yourself," Dean answered, somehow managing to keep the pillow out of Sam's grasp even as he continued to pummel him with it. He felt himself smiling, truly smiling for the first time in _eons_.

"Dean!" Sam squawked, finally getting his hands on the pillow and attempting to pull it out of Dean's grip, so Dean changed tactics, pulled his knee up behind Sam's and pushed, sending his brother off balance. He didn't count on Sam's reflexive grab at him, pulling them both down onto the bed with an _omph!_, the pillow squashed between them.

"Dick, get off me," Sam bitched, shoving him to the side and giving one last, hardy thump of the pillow against Dean's chest before he threw it off the bed entirely.

"Spoilsport," Dean grumbled, splayed out on his back and panting slightly at the exertion of their tussling.

"What are you, five?" Sam scoffed, elbowing Dean in the ribs, a gesture that Dean returned sharply.

"Ow, th'fuck, dude?" Sam growled, "Not so rough."

"Aw, what's the matter widdle Sammy?" Dean smirked, turning his head to look at him, and Sam rolled his eyes, looking over to give Dean the full effect of his bitchface.

Dean laughed, loud and full and he watched with glee as Sam fought the grin trying to take over his face and failing.

"Shut up," Sam grumbled, shaking his head and flipping over onto his stomach, arms tucked under his head, which only made Dean laugh harder, and it felt so _good_. He never thought he would get this again, even the scratch of the crappy motel comforter against the back of his neck and arms, which made his over sensitive skin itch and tingle, felt perfect. The heat of Sam's body against his arm and the beating of his own heart kept him grounded against the barrage of sensations against his new skin.

"Urgh, I can't _take_it," Sam grumbled, reaching his hands over his head to peel his now-sweat-damp t-shirt up and over his head, "It's too hot for this."

"That's 'cause you're a freaking furnace," Dean informed him, and Sam scoffed.

"Can't really help it," he mumbled, finally untangling himself from his shirt to throw it over the side of the bed.

"My personal theory is that you're so full of hot air, that-" Dean stopped short, two lines of black numbers at the base of Sam's neck catching his eye and taking him completely off guard. He sat up quickly and Sam jumped, half-rolling onto his side at looking at Dean's questioningly.

"Dean, what?"

Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, pushing him back down to get a better look, "What the hell is this?" he said quietly, palm flat against Sam's back and pressing the pad of his thumb against the ink gently, swiping across it, spreading the sweat that had beaded there.

01-24-79  
05-02-08

Two neat lines, in a simple, black font. He knew what they were, of course he knew, they couldn't be anything else, but he needed to hear it from Sam, needed it audibly confirmed.

"Oh," Sam said softly, settling back down against the blanket, tucking his head down into the crook of his arm almost shyly, "That's... uh... you."

Dean swallowed hard, still trailing the pad of his thumb over the tattoo gently as he tried to think of something to say.

"Sam, that's... God, I don't..."

"S'nothing," Sam murmured.

"It kind of is," Dean breathed, tearing his eyes from the base of Sam's neck to look at his profile. Sam was blushing, "When did you get this?"

"About two months after... well, after. I just felt like I needed it, I guess. Like it needed to be etched onto my skin to make it real, or something, or I needed to honor you somehow, and this was the only thing I could give," Sam mumbled into the crook of his elbow, blush deepening as he spoke, "God, it sounds so chick-flick now, saying it out loud," Sam groaned, ducking his head.

Dean gave a small laugh at Sam's mortification, still trailing his thumb over the ink again and again.

"Nah, not so bad," Dean reassured him, "It's not like you got my name over your heart in frilly letters and a flowery, pink heart or something. _Then_I would have had to beat the crap out of you for being such a girl over me."

Sam chortled, turning to look at Dean out of the corner of his eye, "Good thing the tattoo artist talked me out of that, then."

"Shut up," Dean smirked, and Sam laughed, tucking his face down again to muffle it.

Dean waited until Sam's laughs tapered down to small chuckles, and the shaking of his shoulders evened before leaning down and pressing a kiss against the lines of numbers gently.

"Thanks, Sammy," he murmured, trailing his lips against the heated skin and feeling Sam tense slightly, "I mean it. Thank you."

"Dean," Sam breathed, rolling over in the small space between Dean's body and the bed, looking up at him with concern mixed with desperation.

"S'ok, Sammy," Dean murmured, moving his hand to cup Sam's face, tracing the edge of his bottom lip delicately, "I'm ok."

Sam swallowed thickly, reaching up tentatively to mirror Dean's gesture, his long fingers spanning from Dean's ear to his lips, and Dean turned to kiss his palm, "God, I missed you. Missed you so much, fucking felt like I was ripped to pieces," Sam confessed desperately on a choked breath and Dean lurched forward, crushed his lips against Sam's franticly.

Sam gave a breathy whine, surging up to wrap his arms around Dean tightly, clutching fistfuls of his shirt in a tight grasp and pulling his body down against him. Dean moaned, the sound soft against Sam's mouth and his body melting down onto his brother's bonelessly.

Sam felt like liquid heat under him, the sweat on his chest making Dean's shirt stick to him and the thigh he was pressing up against Dean's crotch like humping a fucking radiator.

Dean torn his mouth away from Sam's with a pant and Sam whined again, trying to follow his lips.

"Clothes. Off." Dean rasped out, then groaned when Sam latched his lips to Dean's neck instead when Dean wouldn't let him get to his mouth.

"Sammy," Dean panted his brother's name as he licked and bit gently from the base of Dean's neck to his ear, sparks of pleasure erupting from every spot Sam's lips touched his skin. He groaned again, getting hard against the zipper of his pants and grinding his hips down against Sam's thigh more firmly.

"God, you still taste like you," Sam breathed against his neck, the hot puff of air sending shivers down his spine, "I don't know why I was so afraid you wouldn't."

"Sam," Dean growled, "You fucking get my clothes off and you can taste me however you want."

"Fuck yes," Sam rasped and Dean startled as they suddenly were in motion, Sam manhandling Dean onto his back and sitting back on his haunches above him, fingers going immediately to the hem of his shirt and sliding it up over his head. Dean winced as the fabric dragged over the sensitive skin on his arm, the hand-shaped mark that still smarted and hurt.

Sam halted immediately after freeing Dean from the fabric, just staring down at him and Dean blushed stupidly, shifting restlessly against the rough comforter.

"What?" he demanded, and Sam's eyes snapped up to his face for a moment before sliding back down to his chest. Instead of answering, he trailed his fingers along Dean's collar bones, then across to where his arm met his body, then down across his pecs and down his belly.

Then he did the whole circuit again, this time speaking out loud, "Surgery scar," -his collar bones, where the butt if a rifle had once broken the bone- "Bullet wound," -where his arm met his body, the site a bullet had pierced so many months ago- "Wendigo," he continued to list events, traveling down Dean's chest and Dean realized he was recalling all the erased scars, remembering where they used to be with precision Dean was always in awe of.

"Still me, Sammy," Dean said gently as Sam rattled off the last one, a place on his hip where broken glass had once sliced through his clothes and into his skin, and where now there was only smooth, unmarked flesh, "And I'm not goin' anywhere."

Sam gave him a shy, sad, small smile for a brief moment as he let his fingers linger at Dean's hip, tracing small circles over the bone gently and it made Dean's skin twitch, "I know... I know. It's just strange, that's all. Feel like I have to learn you all over again."

"Use your mouth for that learning process and I won't mind so much," Dean smirked and it made Sam laugh. He leaned down to kiss him, spanning his hands flat against Dean's abdomen and tracing upward firmly.

"Hedonist," Sam mumbled and Dean smirked.

"Your favorite one," he reminded him, and Sam laughed again, getting a wicked smirk of his own as he traced his fingertips around Dean's nipples ticklishly, making him twitch and squirm, effectively wiping the smart-ass grin off Dean's face.

"Lucky you."

Dean's breath stuttered out of him in a whoosh as Sam changed tactics, going from light, almost ticklish touches to rubbing a hard circle over his nipples with the pads of his thumbs, the rest of his wide, hot hand curved around Dean's rib cage on either side. Dean squirmed hotly, not sure whether to ask Sam to stop or to beg him to keep going, because it was almost overwhelming. He had never really had sensitive nipples before, so it was a strange, new sensation to feel electric shocks of pleasure go straight to his cock with every flick of Sam's fingers, his brother clearly delighting in making Dean squirm. It got even better when his mouth joined the party, as promised, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck and across his chest, pausing at each hard bud to suck and bite. Dean groaned, arched up into it as he reflexively grabbed Sam's arms in a tight grip, fingers digging into the flesh of his tricep.

"Alright?" Sam murmured against his chest, and Dean puffed out a wry laugh.

"Ok with what you're doing, or ok with the fact that if this sensitivity doesn't wear off soon, for the first time in my life, I'm going to come just from you licking my nipples?"

Sam giggled, actually, honest-to-god, _giggled_, looking up at him through his bangs and Dean wasn't sure whether to kiss him or smack him.

"That, I would love to see."

"Don't you fucking dare," Dean growled, grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair in his fist and gave a sharp yank. Sam grunted at the pain, head tilted back and Dean pulled him up to his mouth, kept Sam's lips hovering over his by mere centimeters, "I've got too many plans for you tonight, little brother."

"_Christ_," Sam whined, pulling hard against Dean's restraining hand in his hair and Dean finally loosened his hold, their lips crashing together again.

"This the last time I'm telling you Sam. Clothes off. Now." Dean commanded roughly, pulling Sam back by his hair for a second time and wedging a hand between their bodies to paw clumsily at Sam's fastenings. Sam nodded, his nose brushing Dean's cheek briefly before he sat back on the edge of the bed, fingers flying over the button and zipper on his jeans as Dean did the same, simultaneously trying to toe off his boots as well.

Being the more practiced at hasty clothes removal, Dean was naked first, even with having to sit up to loosen the laces of his boots before kicking them off and rolling off his socks, along with his jeans and boxers. He immediately pulled his legs up to kneel on the bed and crowd against Sam's back as his brother fought to work of his shoe.

Dean smoothed his hands down Sam's back gently, leaning forward to press his lips against the tattoo, tracing the lines of numbers with his tongue delicately and Sam groaned, finally wrestled off his clothes and leaned back into the touch headily, reaching behind him to grip Dean's thighs and tug him closer.

Dean shuddered as the tip of his cock brushed against the curve of Sam's lower back as he scooted closer, wrapped his arms around Sam's chest and trailed his mouth across his broad shoulders and up the arch of his neck. Sam gave a low moan as Dean's palms dragged over his nipples and down his belly, his abdominal muscles twitching restlessly in anticipation of the slow descent toward his straining cock.

Dean framed Sam's hips with his hands instead, ignoring his dick in favor of tracing the V of muscles from his hipbones down to his pelvis and Sam made a noise of impatience, tilted his head back against Dean's shoulder and Dean smirked, sucked a gentle bruise at the base of Sam's neck.

"Fuckin' tease," Sam growled and Dean grinned wider, licked an obscene stripe up the side of Sam's neck to his ear hotly.

"Tell me what you want," Dean whispered, and Sam groaned, ground his head back against Dean's shoulder in frustration, "Come on Sammy, use your words."

"Fuck you," Sam panted as Dean traced feather-light touches over Sam's balls then down his thighs, smoothing over the coarse hair gently.

"Not with that bad attitude you won't," Dean chided, still teasing light touches over Sam's legs and up to his hips and belly, insanely in love with the fact that Sam was still holding onto Dean's thighs, instead of trying to force Dean's hand to where he so obviously wanted him.

Sam groaned again as Dean became slightly bolder, cupping his hand under Sam's balls as the other tweaked a nipple leisurely, but still waiting for Sam to speak what he really wanted Dean to do to him.

"_Jesus_, please, Dean, jack me, fuck me, _something_," Sam finally burst out, and Dean groaned harshly, hips snapping forward of their own accord once before Dean reigned in control of himself, pulling his hips back from Sam's skin as he finally slid his hand up Sam's shaft, a firm, tight stroke that had Sam panting.

"Come on, yeah," Sam slurred, and Dean obliged him, twisting his palm over the tip of Sam's cock, collecting the precome that had formed there and using it to help slick the next stroke down, continuing the motion over and over and feeling Sam tense with the pleasure of it.

Dean gave a small groan as Sam started to rock his hips forward and back steadily, in sync with Dean's hand on his dick and it made Sam's lower back brush against the tip of his own leaking cock, precome smearing in opaque swipes across his brother's flushed skin.

"Dean. Dean," Sam whined, one hand releasing Dean's thigh to reach over his head, grip weakly at Dean's short hair, "Come on, please."

"What do you want, Sammy?" Dean asked again, risked a slow grind against Sam's back that sent zings of pleasure up his spine, "Tell me what you want, anything, I'll let you do it. Just tell me."

"Ungh," Sam choked at that, fingers flexing reflexively against Dean's scalp, "Fuck me. Dean, please, want you-"

"Oh God," Dean interrupted Sam's plea, grinding his forehead forward onto Sam's shoulder as his hips bucked traitorously again, "God, Sam, I can't. I won't last, it's too much, already fucking feel like everything's cranked to eleven-"

"Doesn't matter," Sam said determinately, "Doesn't matter, just want you in me. Do it. Dean," Sam whined his brother's name breathlessly and Dean caved, would always cave to that voice.

"On the bed," Dean growled, gave a last, firm stroke to Sam's cock before releasing him and pulling away, giving Sam room to scramble up and lay out on the bed as Dean moved off it, went to the pocket in his duffle that he knew would have what they need, knew Sam hadn't touched his bag in the four months his body had been in the ground.

He pulled the bottle of lube from the pocket roughly, clenched it tight in his hand as he turned back to the bed, nearly choked on his own saliva at the sight of Sam in the middle of the mattress, sprawled on his back with his legs open wide, one spit-wet finger already knuckle-deep in his own ass wantonly.

"Knock it off," Dean growled as he stalked over to the bed, knelt between his brother's thighs and batted Sam's hand away, "I'm doing that, you don't touch."

Sam threw a wicked smirk up at him, hooked his hands under his thighs instead and pulled his legs up and apart, nearly making Dean come then and there from the sheer sluttiness of it.

"Come on then," Sam egged him on, and Dean swore a strangled, "_Fuck_," as he hastily flipped the cap on the bottle, squeezing out a sizable dollop of the clear, cool lube over his fingers.

Sam's eyes went a little glossy as Dean traced the outside of his hole teasingly first, just putting firm pressure on the puckered muscle for a moment before sliding a finger in, taking advantage of the small amount of give created by Sam's actions moments before. Still Dean took his time giving small thrusts in and out of the tight ring of pink flesh until he was buried up to the last knuckle and Sam was biting his lip as his inner walls fluttered around Dean's digit.

"More, come on," Sam encouraged, and Dean did it, slid a second finger in slowly and rocked shallowly into him until Sam opened up enough for Dean to push all the way in, forcing himself to relax through the intrusion inside his body.

"More, come on, I can take it," Sam groaned in frustration, arching his back and undulating his hips and Dean swore again, changed the motion of his fingers pumping steadily into Sam into curling thrusts upward, seeking out the hot button he knew would shut Sam up at least momentarily.

He bit his lip when he found it, watched Sam arch of the bed with panting gasps, the muscles in his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself open against the onslaught of sensation.

"Christ, you're amazing," Dean marvelled breathlessly, sliding his fingers out and adding more lube before sliding back in, stretching him with three fingers now and still pressing against that nub of pleasure that kept Sam panting.

"Dean, I'm ready, enough. Fuck me, come on," Sam grit out against the unrelenting pressure and Dean bobbed his head dizzily in agreement, pulled his slick fingers out and squeezed one last handful of lube into his palm, slicked his dick up quickly before wiping his hand on the blanket carelessly.

"Turn over," he commanded, hands nudging Sam onto his belly urgently and Sam went with it, unhooked his hands from under his thighs and rolled over, knees drawn up slightly but arms flat against the bed, one side of his face pressed into the cheap fabric of the comforter as he turned his head to watch Dean the best he could over his shoulder.

Dean swallowed hard as he lined himself up with Sam's hole, the sheen of sweat on his body like a second skin and he pushed in, slowly, worked his way through the ring of muscles that were fluttering and gripping his cock. He groaned almost painfully, keeping a tight, aching hold on the base of his dick until he was fully seated, taking his hand away only to sink in that last inch with a harsh groan.

"_Jesus, Jesus_," Dean panted heavily, using every ounce of self-restraint he had to keep still, even with Sam clenching sporadically around him.

Sam threaded his fingers through his own hair tightly, forcing deep lungfuls of air into his chest, and even that minute movement seemed to cause friction along Dean's cock. He bit back a groan as he draped himself along Sam's back heavily, running his palms along Sam's sides and latching his mouth onto the back of his neck, tracing the lines of ink there like he could taste Sam's devotion if he sucked on his skin long enough.

"Can I move?" he freed his lips long enough to husk out, and Sam nodded frantically.

"Yeah, move, move..."

Dean was careful as he slowly pulled out until only the head remained, then just as carefully pushed back in, focusing very hard on trying to ignore the sensitive pull on his nerves, the smooth glide of his brother's back against his chest.

"Sammy, Sammy, I can't-" Dean muttered frantically against Sam's skin and Sam reached an arm back to him, gripped Dean's hip tightly and urged him on.

"I know, Dean, just fuck me," he panted and that was it, Dean was done for. Sam's words punched a desperate moan out of him as his hips snapped forward, driving into his brother harder and faster and it was like he had lost all control of his fine motor skills, he was just fucking on autopilot as the friction on his cock dragged and rubbed almost to the point of pain as the hyper-awareness of his skin made it to the forefront of his conscious brain.

"_Fuckfuckfuck_," Dean panted, pulled back enough to grip Sam's hips tightly, watch the way Sam's body jerked up and down onto his dick, his hair messy and damp and his skin flushed. Dean couldn't help reaching one hand up to grip Sam's shoulder, running the pad of his thumb over the numbers on the back of his neck again and again obsessively and he knew in the back of his mind that this would not be a fetish he got over quickly, not with Dean's fucking _life_tattooed on the back of his brother's neck as a declaration.

"Dean," Sam whisper-panted, the arm he had fisted in the sheets releasing the bunched fabric to slide under himself instead, and that was it, Dean was done, the pleasured tightening of Sam's ass as Sam fisted his hand around his cock was the final straw to crumble Dean's restraint and he came, leaning over him again to suck a bruise over the ink in Sam's skin as he ground his hips forward and forward and forward, coming so hard his vision went white for a moment.

The next thing he was aware of was Sam calling his name gently, of Sam's big hand running up and down Dean's arm where it was still curled against Sam's side, Dean's no doubt heavy weight still pinning him down.

Dean grunted his acknowledgement dazedly, finally pulling together the strength to pull out as gently as he could and flop down onto his back next to Sam, breathing hard and trembling with aftershocks.

"Christ, look at you," Sam breathed heavily, pushing up on his arms and shuffling over to loom over Dean, and Dean forced his eyes open, watched Sam pump his fist over his still-hard cock tightly as he looked down at Dean with lust-glazed eyes.

"Shit, Sam, m'sorry," Dean slurred, reaching weakly for Sam's dick because Dean simply _did not_leave his partner without orgasm, especially when his partner was the single love of his life.

Sam pushed his hand down before he could even get close, pinned both his wrists and ducked his head to suck Dean's softening dick into his mouth and Dean damn near rocketed straight off the bed, the hot pull of suction nearly tripping into pain at the overstimulation. He gave a wordless shout, fighting to free his wrists from Sam's grasp and Sam only moaned shamelessly in return, sucked and licked the come and the lube off Dean's spent cock with wanton sounds and Dean very nearly blacked out because it was _too fucking much, it hurt_, and he may have said that bit out loud because Sam stopped, panting thickly into the crease of Dean's thigh where it joined his body and just shifting restlessly instead.

Dean was still breathing hard through his mouth, but the all-over buzz of his overactive nerves had began to quiet somewhat when Sam whined through his nose, pulling him out of the post-orgasm daze a little. Made him self-aware enough to realize that Sam was releasing one of his wrists, his hand sliding on the bed slightly as he moved it to trace his fingers around Dean's hole instead and Dean twitched, biting his lip and shifting restlessly against the touch.

"Dean, please, can I...?" Sam trailed off, tilted his head up to look at Dean pleadingly and Dean was nodding before he could even really think about it, "Yeah, yeah," spilling from his lips.

Sam whined again, grabbed the lube and coated his fingers, sliding one, then two fingers inside Dean in quick procession, the slow burn seeming to radiate from where he was split open on Sam's fingers and outward, his skin heating and flushing quickly.

Sam scissored him open as quickly as he dared, apologizing in a low murmur because Dean deserved better than this efficient prep; deserved to be fucking worked open over the span of an hour, deserved to have Sam rubbing his prostate and keeping him on edge for another hour after that, until he was shaking with the need to come and begging Sam to give it to him.

But Sam couldn't wait, not with how close he was already and the way perspiration was shining on Dean's skin, making his new, flawless flesh fucking _glow_ and he needed to be inside him _now_, needed to lick the salt taste of sweat off Dean's skin.

"Dean, Dean I'm sorry but I need- I want-" Sam babbled, and Dean cut him off, grabbed the wrist of the hand Sam was opening him up with and growled.

"I told you anything, Sam, anything you wanted, just do it."

Dean was still panting, thrashing his head from side to side as Sam decided to rub hard circles over his prostate and it was too much again, it was pleasure to the point of pain in its intensity but he was also starting to get hard again, his spent dick twitching in the sticky mess of his pubic hair. It shouldn't be _possible_, he wasn't thirteen anymore, he shouldn't be able to get hard again so fast but then again, he shouldn't be walking and talking right now either, he should rotting in the ground while his soul burned in hell so he's going to just go with the flow for the moment, take it for what it was and just assume his body was still readjusting to being alive again, hormones and nervous system still in high octane mode.

"Jesus, Dean, you're hard," Sam marveled open-mouthed, staring at Dean's filling cock as he continued his ruthless press and grind against Dean's prostate, "God, can I-" Sam began to ask and Dean cut him off, jerked his head against the mattress and groaned at the feel of Sam's fingers give a hard press upward.

"Fuck me, oh god, fuck me," Dean demanded through clenched teeth and Sam didn't need to be told again, pulled his fingers from Dean's ass and coated his cock in lube liberally, guided it to Dean's opening and paused, hooked his elbows under Dean's knees and held him open.

"Fuckfuckfuck_fuck!_" Dean cursed again, neck straining in a tight arch as he pressed his hands over Sam's where they were curved around Dean's sides, nails digging in at the huge press of thick flesh inside his body.

"God, so good," Sam panted at him, plowing all the way in on one long, determined thrust that left Dean reeling, "Fucking gorgeous Dean, look at you."

Even with his senses swimming, Dean could feel himself blush at Sam's words, could feel Sam's eyes all over him even with his own eyes screwed tight, trying to handle the wash of sensations rolling over him; the burn of his rim around Sam's thick length, the ghosting sensation of Sam's heavy breath against the damp sweat on his chest, the finger-shaped bruises he was going to have on his sides tomorrow from the blunt pressure of Sam's fingers.

Sam set up a steady rhythm, sliding in and out of the slick clench of Dean's ass in an almost perfect match to the staccato beating of his heart, each fucking thrust nailing his prostate and punching the breath out of him.

The muscles of his abdomen twitched at the heavy drops of sweat that were dripping off Sam's body, beaded and fell from the planes of his chest and the tips of his hair and Dean was close; so close again and he knew Sam was too, could tell by the trembling of his arms and the soft, breathy, "Unf, unf, unf" that was barely audible escaping his lips.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean moaned, "Come on."

"Oh God," Sam finally wheezed, pitching forward over Dean as his orgasm hit him, turning his steady thrusts into tight, churning grinds of his pelvis as he kissed and licked every part of Dean's skin he could reach. That was it, Dean tossed his head against the scratchy comforter as Sam jolted against his prostate particularly hard and he came for a second time, completely untouched between them and it fucking _ached_, too soon and too hard after his first one but amazingly he still had come left, thick ropes of white coating his belly and Sam's weakly.

Sam collapsed on top of him like his strings had been cut and Dean wrapped shaky arms around him as tightly as he could manage, their chests heaving against each other with the effort to draw breath.

Sam turned his head slowly, panting hot gusts of air against Dean's neck, his lips pressed to the sweat-damp skin there leisurely.

"Love you, Dean," Sam whispered softly, laying a gentle kiss against Dean's pulse and Dean exhaled a weak laugh.

"Such a girl, Sammy," he teased and Sam huffed out an annoyed sound, pinching Dean's side but lacking the coordination to cause any real pain.

"You're a jerk."

Sam began to pull away weakly, but Dean tightened his grip, craned his neck up to kiss a path along Sam's neck lovingly, as the fingers of one hand traced gently across the back of Sam's neck for the millionth time and Sam settled back down, "I love you too. Bitch."

Sam just shook his head slightly, nose brushing along Dean's neck ticklishly.

"So," Dean mumbled a few moments later, the heat of Sam's body over his starting to become oppressive and the various fluids beginning to turn tacky on his skin, "First one who can make their legs work first gets the shower?"

END.


End file.
